


hungry thirsty roots

by meanderingsoul



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Driving, Ficlet, Gen, Late at Night, Memories, Psychological Horror, Surreal, Time - Freeform, liminal space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 11:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21136166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanderingsoul/pseuds/meanderingsoul
Summary: There were lights up ahead, greenish and hazy. A little two pump gas station slung far out from whatever little town was behind it.





	hungry thirsty roots

**Author's Note:**

> For day 21 of aos promptober - local stories

Stopping in strange little convenience stores and gas stations that looked like something out of an old movie had become something of a habit over the years.

There was a particular kind of anonymity to it. He didn’t blend in with the business crowd in these places, but he was usually not the strangest character to come through the door. People didn’t stare. The people who did stare didn’t talk. Security cameras were usually old with bad pictures or broken entirely.

It wasn’t that bad of a habit.

Phil had been driving in the pitch dark a couple hours. He hadn’t seen so much as a barely functional orange streetlight in miles.

His head was starting to ache, all the way around his skull.

There were lights up ahead, greenish and hazy. A little two pump gas station slung far out from whatever little town was behind it.

He couldn’t make out the colors on the sign, but it would do.

The dregs of his coffee were ice cold, but he gulped the rest of it down before he went inside.

There was one teenager at the register, shaggy hair and an old comic book. Nothing to worry about.

Phil just needed coffee and a snack and some fuel before he got back on the road. No time at all.

He’d thought he was alone in here but after staring at the coffee dispensers he noticed an older man leaning against the shelves an aisle over, greying hair cropped short and a bulky jacket. His hands were curling into fists.

Phil sighed. There was a row of plastic coffee dispensers in front of him, but he couldn’t smell any coffee.

He’d thought he was alone in here, but someone was crying in the bathroom, a muffled male voice, stifled sobs and a choked cough. It was better not to knock.

But the voice sounded familiar…

He turned around and then shook his head a little. The buzz of the lights in here sounded strange.

Phil leaned over the donut packages but couldn’t read the writing.

He flinched when someone screamed, “I have to know!” from right behind him. He was on his feet with his hand towards his taser, but nothing was there.

He blinked. There was a shelf. There was something rounded on it, dome shaped, brown and fuzzy. No, that was hair. That was...

He blinked. There was a shelf of… chips, colorful shapes. But it was late. He wanted donuts.

Phil leaned down over the packages but couldn’t read the writing.

Out of the corner of his eye there was a man sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Wait, no, just the one hand, one clutching over his face and the arm pressed against the side of his head. No, clutched to his chest. When he looked no one was there, just boxes.

He’d grabbed one of the packages of donuts. It was in his hand.

There was one teenager at the register, shaggy hair and an old comic book.

Phil looked up.

It was like looking in a mirror. Same eyes. The Captain America comic on the counter hadn’t been for sale in 31 years.

“Keep the change,” he said, but his voice seemed far away. He might not have handed over any money at all. His left hand couldn’t feel his pocket.

The door was heavy to open. It was tacky against his hand.

The car was moving. He was driving. He must have started the car.

Phil might have run to the car.

Why would he have run…

He took a bite of a donut without looking. It was cold, dry and earthy when he swallowed.

Phil coughed and almost choked, wet against his hand. His chest ached like a knife.

On impulse he threw the donuts out the window without looking too hard. The plastic didn’t crinkle against his fingers.

It seemed quieter all of a sudden.

He blinked hard, swallowed.

Phil must have gulped down the last of that cold coffee at some point. His mouth kind of tasted like death.

Something felt off but the drive was hazy in his memory. Hadn’t he stopped for gas? Or at least to add some from the jug in the trunk? But the fuel tank was still hovering around a quarter.

Maybe he’d dozed off at the wheel a bit? Good thing this road was so deserted. He needed to stop somewhere, get coffee and a snack and some fuel before he got back on the road. Wouldn’t take any time at all.

Agent Coulson was needed at the P.E.G.A.S.U.S. Base as soon as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt day focusing more on that folktales and local legends vibe, I decided to go with liminal spaces along empty highways, because that is definitely an aesthetic I know. I grabbed some themes from fae spaces for good measure.
> 
> In a cursed flash of inspiration my brain took the short _A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Thor's Hammer_, the beginning of The Avengers, everything yet to come in aos, and did this to Phil.


End file.
